Hands
by ForeverMATT
Summary: The hands of a certain gamer are more sensitive than previously credited, and Mello's all too happy to exploit a new fetish. -OneShot


**Title:** Hands

**Summary:** The hands of a certain gamer are more sensitive than previously credited, and Mello's all too happy to exploit a new fetish.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN or anything referenced.

**Author's Note:** HANDFETISH and more spontaneous bullshit!

**Warning: Here there be some strange stuffs. Proceed with caution. I will be the first to admit that this is garbage, but... apparently, Hand Fetish is not all that common, and I wanted to do something with it. (CONFESSION! I may or may not have a hand fetish. LOL)  
**

…

* * *

Mello's thoughts raced, trying to comprehend what he'd just heard. "Excuse me?" He challenged, eyes wide and hands fisted tight as he stood before his mentor.

And his mentor, a man known for a letter and not much more, sat back, licking sugary residue from his fingers before repeating: "Hands. That's the answer you came to me for."

"L, no. I don't see how-"

"Mihael, you came here to ask how you might sway Mail into bed with you, correct?" The dark haired man doesn't wait for an answer; his question was rhetorical, of course. "You want to bed him, then pay special attention to his hands."

Mello sighed, running a hand through his hair and trying to contain the budding frustration within him. "L... why _hands_?"

"Think about it, Mihael."

And Mello did think about it, but he came up empty in regards to conclusions.

Thankfully, a famed detective was there to shed light where no one else could. "Mail is a unique sort of person. His past is littered with physical and emotional trauma. To take a direct approach at stimulating him will result in his withdrawal."

Ever a skeptic by nature, Mello gave a slow, indecisive nod. "Alright, but what do I-?"

"Start by taking that handheld from him. From then on, your guess is as good as mine. I've never cared much for traditional pleasures, but I will say this... -When Mail was younger, he would play outside in the snow-"

"Snow? L, we _all _played in the snow."

"Mihael, let me finish. -Mail used to play out in the snow...barefoot and without a coat or vest."

"Didn't he get sick?"

"Of course, but he wore gloves to keep his hands warm. And, when it's hot and humid... _or even when it's a dry heat_... he'll wear long sleeves, a vest, and pants. He'll double up on layers, but you'll be hard pressed to find a cold drink out of his grasp."

"But what-?"

"As long as the temperature of his hands is regulated, he doesn't care about the rest of his body. He's a gamer; his hands are made for feeling. Focus on stimulating his hands."

"But L, I-!"

"That's all I'm saying. I refuse to tell you anything more on bedding and romping. Please exit and leave me to my candy... or I shall be forced to drive you away with talk of Nate's masturbation habits."

-And the blonde was gone, leaving his mentor behind without so much as a word of closure before heading to the ratty halfway house he called home.

Yes, a halfway house.

Residency was given to any addict who could afford $200 a month and manage to provide proof that they were attending support groups and working to be clean.

Walking in, there is no lock on the door -there hasn't been in a long time, and almost nobody remembers why.

Paint is chipped, furniture is busted, walls are graphitized, and the overwhelming stench of alcohol and cigarettes is a big _fuck you_ to the senses.

But the blonde persists, walking past several occupants that, to him, blend in with the shitty place. Cheap and disgusting.

Then he finds his target.

A redhead lounging on a tattered sofa, goggles around his neck, eyes closed, and a handheld cradled between his hands as he slumbers the day away.

But a slumber, at this hour? That won't do, Mello decides.

And so, he approaches and places a hand on the handheld, grabbing and pulling, surprised to see just how good of a grip the redhead has. "Maaatt," he hisses warningly, smirking when the other male obliges and relinquishes his hold.

Blue eyes start at the crown of red and work their way over every inch, memorizing every beautiful feature, every contour... until they steady on the hands that rest precariously over their owner's stomach.

"Well, it's now or never," the blonde says, reaching out and grasping a stripe-clad wrist, pulling it to him and placing a digit into his mouth, letting his tongue cradle the appendage before sinking his teeth in.

The redhead stirs but does nothing more.

Mello pulls his mouth away and sighs heavily, breath assaulting the flesh of the hand that is held an inch or so away, and he doesn't miss the way the redhead's breath hitches and fingers curl.

This, of course, gives the blonde an idea. "Oh, Matt... this better work or I'm going to take you hard and dry anyways. For your sake, you better appreciate this." And he places his lips to the back of Matt's hand, lips ghosting over the span of tight flesh before moving to nip playfully at a knuckle.

Matt shifts, bending a knee and drawing a leg up, unconsciously angling it so that his thigh lightly pressures his denim-clad joystick. His lips part and a soft, sensual sound escapes.

And Mello knows he's onto something. Both of his hands grasp one of Matt's and he experimentally massages it before bending the wrist back and licking the palm. As expected, it's salty and sweaty, a sure sign of just how long he'd been playing that damn handheld.

Matt whines a bit but remains otherwise asleep.

But that won't do. Mello wants him awake and alert and horny as fuck. But he's also impatient. So impatient that he amps of the ante, dropping the redhead's hand and actually smacking it, hard, with a bruising force that is far too harsh to be considered a bitch slap.

And the gamer jolts, eyes wide and breathing harsh as his hands cradle one another against his chest; he brings his other leg to join the first in a poor attempt to hide the twitching cock that's stirring to life under unlikely circumstances.

"Don't hide your hands from me, _Mail_." Mello hissed venomously, eyes narrowing into slits as he moved to straddle the gamer. "It's playtime, and you like games, so... let's play a new one. Let's see how long it takes... for me to make you scream."

Closing his eyes and turning his head to look away, Matt says nothing. The use of his real name seems to have triggered something negative, and he's trying desperately to curl in on himself.

"No, Mail. Don't shy away from me. Consider this therapy."

But the redhead doesn't listen; his thoughts are jumbled and a whimper escapes as he tries to curl up even more.

And the blonde grabs one of Matt's wrists, wrenching it away from safety and forcefully slamming the hand on the top of a nearby coffee table.

Matt releases a cry of surprise, arching up into his blonde companion and panting afterwards. "Wh-What are you doing, Mells? I-I don't...-No..."

"I'm fixing you. You said you wanted to be with me, but I know you're afraid of intimacy. So... I'm taking matters into my own hands. And you're gonna like it. Either that, or you're gonna bleed like a bitch. I'm taking you tonight. On this couch. Without preparation. So, I hope you're the masochist I initially pegged you as. I mean, fuck, I'm going out of my way to adhere your fetish, so you damn well better enjoy it." His rant is punctuated by another slam of Matt's hand into the wooden coffee table.

Matt releases another cry of pleasure.

Mello relents and inspects the abused hand, seeing the knuckles bruised and the surrounding flesh swollen. He rocks his hips against Matt's and relishes the feeling of excitement that is reciprocated. "Oh, fuck, you're so hard, Matt... _Mail_... Be a good boy, and I'll ride you. Fuck, yeah, I will. I was just gonna take your sweet ass, but... oh fuck, your cock just might be worth it. Ngh, up my ass, inside me, feeling me from the inside out. Dammit, you better be good, or I just might have to tie you down and make you take it 'til I'm satisfied."

Hesitantly, Matt attempts to sit up, hands moving to tug at his own shirt, possibly to remove it, but Mello smacks his hand, hard, reprimanding him and giving him a foul look of disapproval.

"Keep the shirt on, Matty. Stripes look good on you." And with that, Mello's own hands are clumsily fumbling with the redhead's belt, unbuckling and tugging it free, doubling the strap in his grip and striking the leather band against the gamer's hand once more, causing him to cringe and thrash, head tossing back and a groan escaping his lips. And Mello only smirks, dropping the belt and reaching to grip the engorged member of his soon to be lover, freeing it of the denim jeans and cotton boxers. Then he sets to work on his own pants, untying the laces and pulling the leather folds apart before shimmying his ass from the restricting material.

"Mello, I-"

"Shhhh, Matty. _Mail_, shhhh." And as Mello positions himself over the redhead, he takes each of Matt's hands in his own and instructing: "I want your left hand in your own mouth... and your right hand in mine. Do it." With that, he releases both of Matt's hands and Matt reluctantly complies.

Matt finds himself groaning and clamping his teeth down tight over his thumb knuckle as his blonde companion slides onto him. It's a painfully slow descent, and all the while, Mello's own teeth are ripping through the tender flesh of the redhead's right hand.

With Matt's cock sheathed and Mello's tight ass filled, a rhythm begins with rocking hips, slowly at first.

Just when it seems that they've found a comfortable pace and tight jaws are releasing sensitive hands, Mello makes an adjustment, bracing both hands against the striped torso beneath him, lifting his hips slowly... and roughly impaling himself. Over and over again.

And Matt arches up, lost in a sea of bliss as both his and his lover's mouth release his bloody hands, and all he can focus on is bliss. His own aching cock buried balls deep into that tight heat. Red, sticky crimson dripping down his palms and wrists. Sweat soaking him as his body yearns for more. And, panting, eyes glazed with lust, he whispers: "Mihael... how-?"

But he doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, the redhead found himself howling in pleasure and thrashing around like the fuckin' exorcist.

And Mello was worse, speaking in tongues while damning his soul with every thrust. His hair soon became matted and tangled, but he was too busy to notice, too focused on the spasmatic sight before him, splayed out in a mass of sex and sensation.

The intimacy lasted for a small eternity before both men climaxed, one filling the other so completely he'd never be clean, and the other emptying a lifetime of desire onto a shirt that dared mock the Doppler effect.

Their sweet salvation cured, they disengaged and... that was the end of it.

No sweet words. No cuddling. No calming touches or endearing praises.

The blonde forcefully removed the gamer's striped shirt and used it to clean up the aftermath; then he fixed himself back into his pants and turned away... as if nothing had happened.

The redhead, on the other hand, got up and frantically closed the distance, nearly tripping over himself and steadying himself only once his arms were around the blonde's lithe frame.

"Thanks, Mello. I needed that."

"Don't thank me. You're the one with the freaky hand fetish."

"...You have a weird fetish too, _Mihael_."

"I do? What's that?"

"Remember that one time... at band camp-?"

…

* * *

**/And that's the sign that my brain is on crack. -I know this whole thing is grammatically fucked and poorly worded, but to be fair... I've read worse. Besides, the fandom doesn't have enough MxM fics, so be glad for the rare occasions when I can pop 'em out like Cheetos./**


End file.
